


your body has betrayed you

by peterandhispirate



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Class Differences, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, Hemophilia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, Religious Conflict, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:15:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterandhispirate/pseuds/peterandhispirate
Summary: Josh’s blood refuses to clot and Tyler brings him dead birds.





	your body has betrayed you

**Author's Note:**

> title from “aglaophotis, or expulsion” by ashley miranda
> 
> translation into russian: https://ficbook.net/readfic/7775903/19752525

Like most parents, Josh’s mother wanted to see him live past the tender age of twenty-two. Helping him reach that milestone was so important to her that she barred him from most things - dangerous things, like running through the woods and hunting birds and whooping and hollering and acting like an all-around maniac.

“God knows we’ve got enough of those around here,” she always told him, shaking her head in that way only mothers can.

So Josh didn’t run through the woods. He didn’t whoop, or holler, or put lead in birds. He took naps. He read books (as long as the pages were taped around the edges, because god forbid he got a paper-cut). Sometimes he even sat on the porch swing and watched the little red squirrels scurry their way across the grass, black eyes glinting and always in a hurry.

Josh was perfectly happy with his squirrels and his books. At the end of the day, he didn’t know much else. Every once in awhile Mrs. Dun would let him go into town or take a long walk, because despite being but a fragile thing, her son was also a nineteen-year-old boy who deserved to taste a little bit of normality. But the shitty part about going into town was that people whispered. They said all kinds of terrible things: Joshua was a poltergeist. Joshua was a recluse. Joshua got “shipped off to one’a those fancy new psych wards in Kentucky and hasn’t been the same since.”

Those rumors bothered him so much that he visited town less and less; whenever his mother gave him the option to participate in general society, he disappeared into the trees instead - without her knowing of course.

As a guilty Catholic, Josh hated lying. He hated it so much. Part of him wondered if God cursed him with a paper-and-thread body as some kind of premature punishment. Either way, he was stuck with it now, and all he could really do was make the best of it. Which meant it was perfectly understandable for him to sit by the pond in the woods and not do much of anything.

No running. No jumping. No howling. He would just sit, and breathe, and watch the jesus bugs skim across the water. Bugs don't spread rumors. Josh liked bugs.

He also liked to dip his fingers in from time to time - never too far, because God only knows what lived below the surface, but just deep enough to let the algae kiss his palms. His own little Garden of Eden, tucked away in the twisted heartland of trees and just begging for someone to disturb the peace.

So someone did.

The first thing Josh saw was bubbles - only a few at first, but the foam multiplied until he couldn't help but lean forward for a closer look. He hoped it was a fish, or a frog, or maybe even a turtle. He'd never seen a turtle in real life before.

It wasn't a turtle. It wasn't even an animal. Because animals don't lunge out of the water all wild-eyed and crowing, waving their arms around like a castaway trying to signal a plane.

It was the lunging and waving and crowing that made Josh topple backwards, mouth hanging open in a scream that couldn't squeeze past the heart in his throat. So he just laid there in the dirt and stared up at the stranger standing over him, and while he was staring he decided that this had to be some kind of deranged water nymph, because who else made an entrance like that? Who else laughed and said, "Jeez, man. Didn't realize I was that scary."

Muscles clogged with fear, Josh couldn't even twitch his fingers, let alone stand up. The nymph in question seemed to realize he'd left him more or less paralyzed and offered a hand, which Josh took after looking at it wide-eyed for fifteen seconds. Once he was back on his feet he opened his mouth to speak, but what could he possibly say? It's not every day strange boys crawl out of your local pond and scare you senseless.

(Not to mention this strange boy in particular was wearing nothing but boxers.)

“Looks like you're having some trouble in the words department, so I'll go ahead and save you the headache: m’Tyler." He stuck out a hand for the second time, crooked teeth on display for the entire world to see, and that’s when the puzzle pieces of Josh’s brain clicked together.

"Joseph?" he asked in a slow voice, but he already knew the truth - which is why he hesitated before tangling fingers with the guy.

"You've heard of me?” The grin twitched a little higher on one side. “Sweet. That means I'm famous, right?"

Josh couldn’t help but remember all the stories his mother had spun over the years: the Joseph brothers were wild animals. They lived in a shack in the woods. They ate squirrels.

It was with these details in mind that Josh blinked and said, “I, uh. I guess."

"Well, I definitely know who _you_ are,” Tyler insisted; Josh felt his heart skip like a scratched record, because God only knows which version of the story he was going to recite.

"Yeah?" A desperate attempt at indifference. Tyler must’ve seen right through him, though: eyes dark and shiny with mischief, he said, “Yeah. You're the shy kid who doesn't do shit."

Believe it or not, Josh took offense to that. It made him sound like some kind of wet sock. His next words were mumbled soft and embarrassed: "I do plenty'a stuff.”

"Like what?" Tyler asked, clearly being sarcastic, and Josh’s face was warm enough to qualify as a fever.

"I dunno.” He rubbed an arm with twitchy fingers, not making eye contact. “I read books."

Tyler raised both eyebrows. “That's... wow. That's riveting."

In the heat of the moment, Josh considered firing back with "I bet _you_ can't read" but ultimately decided against it. Instead, he chewed on his bottom lip and said, “You really shouldn't make fun’a people."

"But it's so easy, though."

"Hey!" Josh sputtered in protest, because that was mean. This boy was _mean_.

“I'm kidding.” Tyler was talking his way around his own laughter, both hands lifted as if in surrender. “Kinda. Not really."

Tired of being the punchline of some asshole’s joke, Josh turned in a huff and started walking, ready to go home and take the longest nap of his life. This was, by every definition, _too_ _much_ _excitement_.

But Tyler was a persistent bastard. It was kind of sad how easily he kept up with Josh, still in nothing but boxers and hair plastered against his head. Josh refused to look at him, even when he started talking - holy _shit_ did this kid like to talk.

"Not so fast, Book Boy. This is my first time meeting you in real life. I've got a few questions to ask."

"Mean questions?" Josh asked, still staring straight ahead. He was on the lookout for thorns.

Not nearly as worried about his legs getting ripped open, Tyler shrugged all innocent. “D'pends on your definition of mean."

That’s when Josh gave him a look, two parts exhausted and one part skeptical. Tyler looked right back at him, borderline defiant, so Josh caved. “Okay, fine."

"Cool." Stepping over a log half-eaten with decay, Tyler asked, "What's with the hermit shtick?"

"S'not a shtick,” Josh mumbled, more concerned than annoyed. Did people really think he was playing a part? "I've got a condition."

"Really? Me too."

Josh stopped dead, excitement blooming like wildflowers in his delicate arteries. Maybe it was a weird thing to be excited about. He just hated being the only one. “What's yours?"

"S’called hot stuff syndrome,” he said, deadpan, and Josh could already feel his chest deflating. “Makes me irresistible to dames. You know how it is."

“No.” Josh squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers like he was getting an actual migraine. “No, I really don't."

"Of course not."

Josh gave him another look.

"You said no mean _questions_ ,” Tyler pointed out all matter-of-fact. “That doesn't mean I can't be a general asshole."

Fortunately for Josh, they arrived at the treeline a couple seconds later. Gesturing at the spidery white house arching its shingled spine above the trees, he said, “This is my stop."

"Nice place." No sarcasm this time. The look on his face (round eyes, barely-open mouth) made it seem like he was genuinely impressed.

 _Because_ _he_ _lives_ _in_ _a_ _shack_ , snarled the goblin in Josh’s brain, which he pointedly ignored.

"Thanks." He took a few steps towards the house only to remember his manners and turn back, sheepish, and say, “I guess I'll see you... around?"

Tyler smiled. “I guess you will."

While on his way to the front door, it occurred to Josh that, against all odds, he just made a real flesh-and-blood friend. Not a very popular friend, but a friend all the same.

That had to count for something.

 

;

 

The next time Josh saw Tyler, he was reading The Great Gatsby with his legs crossed, green-black reflections rippling in front of him like God's most precious stained glass window. There was no better time for Tyler to drop a dead quail next to him unannounced, scaring him so bad that he nearly dropped his book in the water.

"Will you quit doing that?" Josh asked, not snapping but begging. He squinted up at Tyler, who was all smiles and shrugs and shiny doe eyes.

"Doing what?" Like he didn't know. Unbelievable.

Embarrassed, Josh ran a still-shaky hand through his curls. "Scaring me."

"Just quit getting scared," Tyler suggested, making Josh blink slow and stupid before pointing at the bird. "Brought you something."

"Yeah," Josh said, clearing his throat. "I, uh. I see that. Thanks."

Tyler grinned so wide that Josh could calculate the exact angles of his bottom teeth. He said, "You're welcome. It's still warm."

"Good to know," said Josh, who definitely wasn't going to figure out if that was true or not. Meanwhile, Tyler started pulling his shirt over his head, leaving his hair a mess and turning Josh's face bubblegum pink.

"What're you doing?" Josh asked, voice cracking with genuine shock - like there was something confusing about tan skin stretched over ribs that just barely jutted out.

"Uh, swimming?” He tossed the shirt aside; Josh watched it get lost in the reeds. “What else would you do at a pond?"

“I dunno,” Josh mumbled, trying not to stare and failing miserably. “Aren’t you scared of sharks?”

Tyler went perfectly still. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No..?”

Tyler opened his mouth to make fun of him, then closed it, then opened it again to say, “Tell you what: if you see any fins, let me know.”

Josh swallowed, and nodded, and watched him tug off his pants and throw them in the same direction as the abandoned shirt. That’s when it dawned on him that he’d never seen so much of someone else’s body before - sure, he was perfectly familiar with his own skin, sensitive and moon-pale, was well acquainted with his soft underbelly and thighs, but this was different. It was different because Tyler was a twig carved from dewdrops and wildflowers and golden sunlight. Feral things.

Josh was all nerves when he watched him wade into the pond, hips cutting through the water like knives through butter. The algae floated seamlessly out of his way, reminding Josh of all those childhood stories about Moses parting the Red Sea. He wondered if Tyler had been told those same stories as a kid.

He wondered if there was anyone to tell them to him in the first place.

His train of thought was derailed by a scream, followed by a splash, followed by the disappearance of Tyler’s entire body underwater. Josh didn’t believe his own eyes at first; it took his brain a good fifteen seconds of churning before he started to panic, because oh God, there really _was_ a horrible swamp creature lurking just below the surface, and now it had Tyler, was probably eating him alive, and what could he do about it? Go after him? No. No, he couldn’t.

Yes, he could.

So Josh rose up on legs he couldn’t feel, teetered forward, did the sign of the cross, sucked in two lungfuls of air, and prepared to dive in after some boy he barely knew.

He didn’t even have one foot in the water when the boy himself thrust a hand out of the depths to grab his ankle, resulting in a shriek on Josh’s part and laughter on Tyler’s when his upper half finally broke the surface. He thought it was so fucking funny, in fact, that he doubled over like he was in pain, and all the while Josh just stood there and stared at him, heart still beating fast enough to crack his ribs in two.

“You’re... you can’t just...” As per usual, Josh was struggling to find the right words. It would take at least a week for his heart rate to return to normal.

“Oh my god," said Tyler, wheezy and teary-eyed and not struggling at all. "You were so fucking worried! Oh, man. Wow.”

Josh went pink in the face. "So? What’s so bad about worrying? I thought... I mean, I really did think you...”

“Trust me, it's gonna take a whole lotta firepower to finish me off," Tyler insisted, wiping away happy tears with the back of one hand. "I’m borderline indestructible.”

“You don’t _look_ indestructible.”

Tyler spread out his arms, grinning. “That’s the secret, baby.”

Josh didn’t really know what that was supposed to mean, so he just shook his head and said, “Whatever.”

They spent the next thirty minutes going back and forth, with Josh trying his best to continue reading his book and Tyler more or less bothering him.

Questions. So many questions. Tyler was a curious bastard; it was a wonder that curiosity hadn't gotten him killed yet.

"So how long do you think you'll live?" He was sprawled out on his stomach, lower half in the water and upper half on land like some kind of discount mermaid. "Like, theoretically."

"I dunno," Josh mumbled, turning a page. "Not long."

"Huh. That sucks."

Josh didn't look up, trying to seem unbothered but still not absorbing any of the words strung together in front of him. "Yeah, I guess it does."

"Kinda dumb that guys like you get screwed over but evil old bastards live t'be a hundred," Tyler pointed out while picking at his nails, and _that's_ when Josh glanced up.

"Guys like me?"

"Y'know." Tyler made a vague gesture. "Good guys."

Josh blinked, caught somewhere between a blush and a frown. "How do you know for sure that I'm good?"

Tyler looked at him, thoughtful, and said, "I just know."

He just knew. That was good enough for Josh.

He went back to his book.

 

;

 

The second bird was a pheasant, boldly colored and still wet with blood that soaked deep into the earth when Tyler deposited it next to Josh, smiling all proud like a cat showing off its latest catch. And Josh thanked him, because he wasn't sure what else to do. It's not like he could bring it home to his mother - she would just sigh and say something condescending like "Josh, honey, we're not animals. We eat chicken from the butcher like nomal people. Now go wash your hands."

So he thanked Tyler. Genuinely. Josh was always genuine about everything.

"Why don't you ever get in?" Tyler asked him once he was half-naked and up to his waist in water, prompting Josh to glance up from his book and shrug with that shy tenderness he carried around in his pocket all the time.

"Not a very good swimmer."

Tyler snorted. "It's not even that deep."

Josh pinned his bottom lip between his teeth, skeptical; brain repeating the same seven words: _you're_ _not_ _even_ _supposed_ _to_ _be_ _here_.

"C'mon, man," Tyler urged, and Josh couldn't help but remember all the Bible verses about Satan persuading people to do terrible things. "Loosen up a little."

"What if I cut my foot on a rock or something?" Josh said, which was a very real possibility. Did he really want to die surrounded by mosquitoes and lily pads?

Tyler looked him dead in the eye and said, "I'll carry you."

Josh's face was already blistering with embarrassment, but Tyler just smiled and beckoned to him with both hands, repeating himself.

"C'mon."

So Josh crumbled under the peer pressure and set his book aside, standing and unbuttoning his shirt with shaky hands while Tyler wolf-whistled, which just made him shake even harder. He nearly fell over trying to yank off his pants, but after fifteen or twenty seconds of hopping around like a total jackass, he was standing at the water’s edge in nothing but underwear.

He felt exposed, to say the least. He had such a hate-hate relationship with his own body - fragile, freckled, pudgy in places - that he assumed Tyler would hate it, too.

But there wasn’t a single smidge of hatred in Tyler’s eyes when he said, “Get in, you big baby.”

And Josh hesitated, because that’s what he did best. “What if I’m too heavy?”

“Everybody’s light in water. That’s buoyancy or some shit,” said Tyler, who was clearly a scientist. “Now quit bein’ a wimp and get over here.”

Heart beating to the rhythm of an internal Hail Mary, Josh started forward on granite legs that were quickly swallowed up by algae and cloudy reflections. Shockwaves rippled down his back, and for a split second, he thought he was dying.

“Okay,” he whispered, breathy. "You, uh. You can hold me now. Please."

The next thing Josh knew he was being swept off his feet, one arm curling under his thighs and the other supporting his back. It happened so fast that he blinked at Tyler kind of stupid, trying to make sense of the shit-eating grin and twinkling eyes.

"Comfortable?" Tyler asked, teasing, and Josh could only nod, dark curls bouncing in delicate disarray.

"Stronger than you look."

"Thanks, man."

That's when Josh slung his arms around Tyler's neck, partly out of instinct but mostly because it felt right. Tyler didn't object - in fact, he took it a step further, tipping his face forward so their foreheads touched.

Water lapping at his hips, Josh waited for God to strike them down. He waited for Tyler to drop him in the deep end and let him drown, because after all those stories about the lawless Josephs, with their screaming and howling and spitting, it seemed like the only logical ending.

Tyler didn't drop him. Tyler didn't scream, or howl, or spit. Tyler didn't fear God. He just waded in deeper, and Josh held on tighter, and laughed sort of nervous, and Tyler grinned with the lullaby mischief of a fallen angel.

"See?" he said, uncharacteristically softspoken. "This isn't so bad."

"I guess not," Josh agreed, equally soft, letting Tyler's eyelashes kiss his cheeks like butterfly wings. Even after all the rumors, there was something undeniably tender about him. It glittered in his eyes when wayward sunlight filtered through the trees and danced across his face, highlighting every sharp edge and trace of stubble.

Josh didn't know much, but he knew just enough to figure out that _this_ \- the staring, the smiling, the touching foreheads - was wrong. It didn't feel wrong, but that didn't make it any less suspect. So he leaned back a little in Tyler's arms and said, "Can you put me down now? On land?"

"Sure thing."

Tyler didn't seem the least bit offended when he dropped Josh off in the shallows, setting him down so gently that you'd think he was handling a piece of porcelain. But rather than feeling useless or fragile or even patronized, Josh was swamped with puppy love. He felt valued, which was strange, because he had spent his whole life feeling inherently out of place - like God had forgotten to give him a purpose.

Maybe he didn't even need one. Maybe he could just live.

Strange. So strange. Radical, almost.

 _This_ _is_ _what_ _you_ _get_ _for_ _hanging_ _around_ _a_ _Joseph_.

“How am I s’posed to explain this to my mom?” Josh asked nervously, gesturing to the water rolling down his skin like rain on a boy-shaped window pane.

“Just tell her you fell in a puddle or something,” Tyler said with a dismissive wave of one hand. “Y’know, you really need to work on this whole lying thing.”

Leaning down to grab his clothes, Josh mumbled, “I don’t like lying.”

“Yeah? Me neither. But sometimes you gotta.”

Josh lifted his freckled shoulders in a shrug. “I guess.”

There was a ten-second stretch of quiet, Josh pulling his shirt back over his head and Tyler watching him, thoughtful to the point of zoning out. Josh had one leg in his pants when he finally spoke up.

“What would she say if she knew?”

If Josh had plugged his ears for half a second, he would’ve missed the quiet insecurity passing in and out of Tyler’s voice like a ship in the night.

“I mean... I dunno,” Josh admitted, plucking his book from the ground; dusting it off. “I don’t think she likes you very much.”

Tyler didn’t seem the least bit surprised. “I’m an acquired taste.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you kinda are,” Josh agreed, helpless, and turned to leave. The sun would set before long - the last thing he needed was a search party combing the woods to find him.

So he started walking, mess of curls still sopping wet, but Tyler spoke up again before he could completely disappear into the trees.

“I _can_ read, y’know. And write. I’m not very good at it, but I can do it.”

Heart caving in on itself like an abandoned house, Josh turned to look at him and said, “I believe you.”

And he went home for dinner.

 

;

 

Bird number three wasn’t a bird at all but a shotgun, prodding the small of Josh’s back and scaring him speechless when he twisted around to confront it.

“Jeez, man. Watch where you point that thing.”

“Get up,” Tyler instructed, jabbing him again. “We’re going hunting.”

Josh’s eyebrows furrowed. “For what?”

“Birds.”

That’s how Josh wound up creeping through a wheat field on a Saturday afternoon, trailing at Tyler’s heels like a child who feared being left behind. It seemed to stretch on forever, all that yellow, and he certainly didn’t know his way around.

But Tyler was as sure-footed as ever. He moved through the stalks with scary precision, wild-eyed and catlike. Above him, clouds were pinned against the sky like white rabbit roadkill strewn across God’s favorite blue street.

“So, uh, what d’we do when we find one?” Josh finally piped up after five minutes of slinking in silent unison. Truth be told, he was sort of hoping they _wouldn’t_ find anything - blood made him all squeamish and weird.

Still a couple feet ahead, Tyler snorted, amused and a little bit endeared. “Shoot it, genius.”

“Okay, yeah, but-“

That’s when Tyler went perfectly still, reminding Josh of one of those serious-looking hunting dogs with the big brown eyes and sad voices. When Tyler dropped down, he did the same - what else was there to do?

“See something?” Josh asked in a whisper, breathless; Tyler just nodded, making a vague gesture in one of the cardinal directions. Blinking, Josh said, “Now what?”

“Gotta wait.”

Legs already starting to ache, Josh shook his head. “Can’t believe you have the patience for this.”

“I really don’t,” Tyler admitted, one corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile. “It’s worth it in the end, though.”

“You like killing stuff?” Josh’s voice trembled at the edges, because he was way too sensitive for his own good. Whether that was a blessing or a curse, he wasn't sure.

“That’s a really... _weird_ way of putting it,” Tyler said, more thoughtful than offended. He was pretty reflective for a supposed barbarian. Josh felt misinformed.

“How?” Josh sputtered. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”

Tyler gave him a raised-eyebrow look and said, “Not everyone can afford prime cuts from the butcher, Josh.”

Suddenly hot in the face, Josh lifted his shoulders in the world’s most timid shrug. “Thats, uh. That’s fair, I guess.”

Tyler opened his mouth to say something else before promptly shutting it again. Giving Josh a meaningful sideways glance, he tapped a pointer finger to his lips, which Josh _definitely_ hadn't been staring at for the past fifteen seconds. Passion replaced with panic, he peered past Tyler into the forest of wheat, chewing on his bottom lip with that typical nervous energy.

 _Stay_ _low_ Tyler mouthed at him, and Josh obeyed. Slowly, carefully, they crept forward, Tyler lifting the shotgun a little more with each move. The sight of it made Josh's tender heart plunge into the deep dark depths of his stomach; the way the steel glittered in the sunlight made him borderline nauseous.

The first shot Tyler took came out of nowhere - it took a second for the /pop/ to register in Josh's brain, like his nervous system was struggling to keep up with the brutality of it. And then they were running: Tyler leading, always leading, crashing through the sea of gold with any traces of discretion long forgotten. He just kept pulling the trigger, and swearing, and pulling the trigger again, and all the while Josh struggled to keep pace with his hysteria.

Then he fell. Josh, that is. He wasn't entirely sure how it happened - he was running, and then he was tumbling, and somewhere along the way he wound up on the ground.

His first thought was _okay_ , _that_ _hurt_ , because it did. He pulled his knee to his chest with a wince, running careful fingers over the bruise already beginning to form, angry and red. He fully expected Tyler to keep running, keeping hollering, keep firing off rounds.

But then he was _right_ _there_ , materializing like some kind of wayward ghost and dropping down next to Josh. He was shaking.

"Oh, _shit_. Oh, Josh. Oh, man. Are you okay? You're not bleeding, are you? Please tell me you're not bleeding." Tyler reached out with hands that trembled, anxious butterflies that hovered but never quite touched him - as if one tap would reduce Josh to nothing but blood.

"I think I'm good," he said, which was true. He couldn't find any cuts. Just the cherry-colored contusion glaring up at him from an otherwise pale leg.

"Okay," Tyler breathed, nodding kind of frantic, and then repeated himself, firmer this time: " _Okay_. Jeez. I wouldn't forgive myself if anything happened to you."

Josh blinked at him, pleasantly surprised and starting to smile. "Really?"

"No."

"Uh huh," said Josh, snorting. Tyler was almost bashful when he finally sat down next to him, which was new. Josh had always been under the impression that he didn’t have an embarrassed bone in his body.

"This wasn't really the best idea on my part." He ran a hand through his hair; it wasn't shaking anymore. Josh was glad. He didn't like scaring people. Made him feel guilty.

"I had fun," Josh admitted - not entirely a lie. The whole 'running through a field' thing had been pretty exciting while it lasted.

Tyler's face lit up like it was soaked in gasoline and Josh's words were a red-hot match. "You did? No way."

"I think I'd rather just sit here, though." Josh had both knees hugged to his chest, stray curls laying gentle and dark against his forehead. "If that's all right with you."

"We can do that."

So they sat, Josh stealing shy glance after shy glance and Tyler taking shelter in the crawlspace of his heart.

"You sure that doesn't hurt?" Tyler asked after awhile, nodding towards Josh's bloodshot knee. He had an uncanny ability of sounding concerned and totally indifferent at the same time.

Josh blinked, and looked down, and said, "Huh? Oh. Yeah, I'll be fine. Happens all the time."

Tyler's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He pointed at the bruise for emphasis. " _That_ happens all the time?"

"Mhm. Sometimes I'll just wake up with marks all over," Josh said, shrugging like these were completely normal occurences. He didn't know any better. "I dunno where they come from."

"Sounds like you've got ghosts in your bed, man."

Josh scratched at his jaw, mumbling, "I think I'd prefer an actual person, if I'm being honest."

For the second time that day, Tyler opened his mouth with the intention of saying _something_ only to snap it shut again. Josh barely had time to grapple with his disappointment before Tyler was getting to his feet, brushing dirt off his clothes; extending a hand.

"We should prob'ly head back," he was saying. Josh was watching his mouth again. "And if your mom asks any questions, tell her you tripped over a book or something."

 

;

 

Weeks went by before Josh’s mother found out about their involvement with each other. She could’ve stayed in the dark a lot longer if Josh hadn’t gone to her, wide-eyed and wringing his hands, to seek her approval. That’s all he really wanted from anyone.

She was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table; he approached her like one approaches a wild animal - slowly, and with caution. It’s not that she was cruel, or even ill-intentioned. She just looked at Tyler and his brothers and saw a trio of nighttime coyotes with blood drying between their teeth. Surely she wouldn’t react well to the idea of her hemophiliac son getting close enough to touch such a mongrel (close enough to tuck forget-me-nots behind his ears, close enough to count his chicken pox scars, close enough to breathe his air).

So he didn’t get into any of that. He stood at her shoulder, radiating so much nervous energy that she couldn’t help but turn and acknowledge him.

“Yes?” Not annoyed, just a little tired. She worried too much. Josh blamed himself.

“I just wanted t’ask you something. Can I?”

Mrs. Dun nodded, reaching for his hand; squeezing it. “Of course.”

“Okay.” He squeezed back - their own special Morse code. “I, uh... just hear me out. Promise?”

Another nod. Josh went on.

“I was wondering if you’d let me have dinner with someone," he said, careful and slow.

“Who, exactly?” She already sounded suspicious. Josh was starting to panic, and the dread seeped into his voice when he swallowed and said, "Uh. Tyler.”

Her eyes narrowed. "Joseph?”

Josh nodded.

A pause. She let go of his hand. And then, "Absolutely not.”

Josh's heart dropped six stories into the pitch-black cellar of his gut.

“We’re friends, Ma," he insisted, which only made the horror in her eyes burn brighter.

“Since when?”

He shrugged, weak and mild - mouselike. "Recently, I guess. We bumped into each other in town.”

He was so going to hell.

“I’m not letting you sit down and eat wild animals with a backwards lowlife like Tyler Joseph." Mrs. Dun was practically spitting at that point, like the very thought of Tyler put arsenic in her mouth.

Josh was getting desperate. "But he invited me, and I really wanna-"

"No."

For whatever reason, Josh had begun to shake. Torn between his mother's disappointment and his friend's existence, he trembled, and that trembling was reflected in his voice when he said, "What about a compromise?"

"I doubt there's a compromise to be made in this situation, dear," she admitted, almost apologetic. She knew how much this meant to her son - hated to turn him away when he asked for so little.

"He could come over here instead." It was a longshot - the longest shot of all - but he had to try. For once in his life, he had to _try_. "Eat dinner with us."

The conflict on his mother's face threatened to split her head in half. "I don't want him tracking dirt into our home."

"He won't," Josh insisted, like he was talking about a puppy and not a human being. "He really won't. I swear."

Another pause. And then she was asking, "Will this make you happy?"

Josh nodded, because that was an understatement. "Happier than usual, I think."

"...I suppose."

Josh could've cried with relief, but he opted to lean down and hug her oh-so tight. She sighed, and closed her eyes, and stroked his hair.

"I love you, Joshua," she was mumbling, and Josh smiled.

"Love you too."

Tyler arrived right on time, which shocked Josh's mother but was no surprise to Josh himself, who answered the knock on the door with the enthusiasm of an angel meeting God for the first time.

"Hi," said Tyler, trying his best not to sound _too_ excited. Josh could see it in his eyes, though - in the way he was dressed, unusually clean-cut with suspenders and perfectly-combed hair. He looked a little uncomfortable, and Josh found himself caught between hunger and guilt. It wasn't fair that Tyler had to squeeze into church clothes to even have a shot at being accepted by Josh's family.

But he looked so fucking cute.

"Hey." Josh stepped aside and Tyler moved past him almost instantly, fearless to a fault and already looking around with that lethal curiousity.

"Don't think I've ever been in a house this big before," he admitted after Josh closed the door behind them.

"Really?" Josh followed his wandering eyes, as if he was just seeing it all for the first time. "What do y'think?"

"Kinda overrated."

And Josh smiled, because that was a very Tyler thing to say.

They made their way into the kitchen side-by-side, Josh already worrying that silverware would be flung at Tyler's head and Tyler himself not looking the least bit concerned. He was probably panicking on the inside - but God knows he'd never let anyone else find that out. Especially not Josh's mother, who was already staring him down from the kitchen table.

Josh felt compelled to give him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, but he didn’t get the chance: Tyler marched right up to her and stick out a hand.

"Hello, ma'am. M'Tyler."

Mrs. Dun looked at him for a long, hard moment, like she had expected him to speak in tongues or spit acid. She truly didn’t know what to make of this kid, and in a way, Tyler seemed to like that.

By the time they actually shook hands, Josh was on the brink of a full-on nervous breakdown.

“Your father will be in shortly,” Mrs. Dun said while pulling away (very, very quickly). "Have a seat."

Tyler had no problem pulling out a chair; Josh sat to his left, legs already starting to do that weird bouncing thing his family hated so much.

("Joshua, _please_. You're making me nervous." "Sorry, Ma.")

"Nice house," Tyler said with vague sincerity, giving Josh flashbacks to thirty seconds ago when he called it overrated.

Tyler was a liar. Tyler was a _cute_ liar. Tyler made Josh want to tell a few lies of his own.

If Josh's mother saw through the good southern boy facade, she didn't show it. She just smiled with matching dishonesty and said, "Thank you, Tyler, I appreciate that. May I ask where you live?"

Translation: _what_ _godforsaken_ _hole_ _did_ _you_ _crawl_ _out_ _of?_

"Oh, nowhere special." He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "I mean, it's special to _me_ , but I doubt you'd think it's all that impressive."

"Fair enough, I suppose."

"Yeah," Tyler said, smiling with teeth that glinted. "Fair enough."

That's when Josh's father stumbled into the kitchen - not drunk, just tired and a little confused by Tyler's presence. That confusion stayed clear on his face when Tyler rose to shake his hand, but he didn't bother commenting on the strangeness of it, opting to humor the bastard with a firm handshake instead.

Truth be told, it felt more like a business meeting than a dinner; Josh didn't know what he expected.

"So, Tyler," Mr. Dun spoke up once they were all sitting down, doing that nervous thing where he cleared his throat. "How do you make a living?"

Josh found himself stealing panicked looks at Tyler's face throughout the entire thing - trying to guage his reaction. He expressed himself in little ways: furrowed brows, twitching mouth, eyes that occasionally glanced over at Josh as if to say “are you hearing this?” The only thing that really distracted Josh from the wave of SOS signals was his mother leaning over to cut his food.

"Ma." Soft at first, then louder. " _Ma_. I can do it myself."

She gave him one of those looks. “Joshua, the day I let you touch a knife is the day God strikes me down."

Naturally, his face got all warm and pink, and Tyler seemed to be caught between wanting to make fun of him and sparing him any further embarrassment. He settled on raising both eyebrows and smiling just a little - not really a smirk, but taunting enough to make Josh go from flustered to mortified.

It didn’t take much, honestly.

The following fifteen minutes were spent mostly in silence, the stillness only being broken by the occasional intrusive question from Josh’s parents. He’d never seen Tyler so quiet; it was almost unnerving, the way he just... sat there. Not in a shy way, necessarily (‘timid’ had never been part of his vocabulary), but so domesticated. Josh wanted to shake him, or throw something at him, or release him back into the wild where he belonged.

“Would you mind if I took some’a this home for my brothers?” Tyler gestured to his leftovers, and Josh watched his mother’s face soften just a little.

“Of course.”

So they wrapped it up and Tyler thanked them - all of them. And Josh led him out the front door so they could sit on the creaky old porch swing, with its peeling white paint and rusting chains. The quiet from inside seemed to follow them at first, but pretty soon knees were bumping and teeth were flashing and Josh was opening his mouth to speak.

“Sometimes I feel like...” He trailed off, wistful and a little scared, like he wanted to say something sacrilegious. “I dunno.”

“Go ahead,” Tyler urged. “We’re all heretics here.”

So Josh sucked in a breath and said, “Sometimes I feel like God just put me here as a joke- or maybe an experiment. Like he wanted to see how long I could last or whatever.”

Tyler raised both eyebrows. “You think He’d be that cruel?”

“I guess not,” said Josh, toying with his sleeve - lost. “I mean, I’d start doing some pretty cruel stuff if I’d been around that long. S’what happens when you get bored.”

Tyler laughed then, shiny-eyed, and Josh couldn’t help but get flustered.

“What?”

“It’s just kinda funny that you honestly think there’s a mean bone in your body.”

“How d’you know there isn’t?” Josh pointed out, and Tyler just smiled.

“I know tons of stuff. Trust me.”

And Josh trusted him, because he trusted most people. Trusted him enough to lean over and press a cheek to one of those skeleton shoulders, curls tickling Tyler’s neck and prompting him to hum, to squeeze Josh’s thigh - gentle.

Josh trusted him.

 

;

 

Josh’s favorite mornings were the misty ones - the ones he spent with Tyler, running through fields still slick with sleepy tears, and later the frost that crunched under their boots. Tyler started wearing one of those raccoon caps that reminded Josh of Davy Crockett, which was a little gross but painfully fitting at the same time.

"I can make you one, too, if y'want," Tyler had offered, and Josh just shook his head, tugging down his own knitted hat so it covered more of his ears.

"M'okay. I couldn't pull it off like you do, anyway."

So they ran as two entirely different breeds, Tyler always leading, always howling, always hopping over fences and chasing crows. And Josh trailed not far behind, wind whipping dark curls around his face until he could barely see, forced to follow the sound of Tyler's off-key laughter.

Sometimes Tyler would pause just long enough for Josh to tuck snowdrops in the pocket of his overalls, pink-faced and shy. Tyler would laugh, and thank him, and ruffle his hair before taking off again after something Josh could never hope to see. God, maybe.

On one morning in particular, Tyler’s parading led them right up to the forest’s edge, where they were greeted by a sign nailed to one of the trees:

 _TRESPASSERS_ _WILL_ _BE_ _SHOT_ _ON_ _SITE_.

As the anxious one, Josh’s immediate reaction was to turn, wide-eyed, and say, “Let’s get outta here, then.”

But Tyler didn’t move. He just kept peering into the woods, eerily thoughtful.

“C’mon, Ty.” Josh reached out to tug on his sleeve - it was borderline childish, but he couldn’t help it. He was scared. Tyler was scaring him. “Let’s head back. It’s cold. Aren’t you cold?”

Tyler was still staring straight ahead when he said, “Wanna see how far I can get.”

“What? No. Don’t be stupid.” Josh didn’t know why he bothered objecting: at the end of the day, Tyler would do whatever the hell he wanted. Which is why he had begun to shake. “Ty..?”

“I’m too fast. Whoever they are, they won’t even knick me,” Tyler assured him, pulling away, and Josh could only stand back and watch as he plunged into the trees. The undergrowth swallowed him up like he was nothing more than a fawn wandering into a lion's cruel mouth.

Just like that, he was gone, and Josh was left helpless. He hated feeling that way, but it was his permanent state of being: fragile. Forced to sit back and watch things happen, even if those things swamped his stomach in nausea.

This was one of those things.

The crack of the gun didn't register in his jittery rabbit brain until a good three seconds later. He watched a horde of crows burst from the trees, a cackling nightmare swarm outlined against a sky that suddenly seemed _too_ blue.

Josh lingered at the treeline with his heart going from his stomach to his throat and back again, an endless game of hopscotch where his ribs were used in place of chalk boxes. He strained to see past the first layer of trees, wringing his hands and waiting for branches to rustle, waiting for Tyler to emerge from between the lion's teeth with all his limbs intact. Triumphant.

Thirty seconds later and Tyler still hadn't emerged. Forty seconds. Fifty. A minute. Too long. He'd been gone _too_ _long_ , and Josh had to go in after him. That's what friends do, right? Go in after each other?

Tyler was Josh's friend, so Josh was moving forward. Josh was trembling. Josh was putting himself at risk for so many different breeds of death: gunshot wounds and scrapes and bruises and, shit, the laziest kiss from a thorn could send him six feet under.

But Tyler was Josh's friend.

He didn't even have one foot in the leaf litter when Tyler seemed to materialize out of nowhere, crashing through the brush with eyes all wide and wild, a frightened deer of a person, one hand clutching his left shoulder.

Blood leaked from between his fingers.

In Josh's world, there was nothing scarier than the color red, sticky and angry and glistening on the wrong side of someone’s skin. Which is why, for a second or two, he was paralyzed. Useless. Speechless. Helpless.

Always so fucking helpless.

The urgency of it finally caught up with him when Tyler shoved him forward with a free hand, mumbling too fast and frantic for Josh to understand. The only word he could really make out was /go/.

So he went, one arm curled firm around Tyler’s back, dragging him onward, across the frost-kissed grass, across fields and thickets and rabbit burrows, stumbling, shaking, swearing, Tyler’s blood dribbling across his wrist like drool from a dog’s mouth. Except the mouth was a wound, and the wound was gaping, and Tyler was sucking in air from between gritted teeth, and Josh knew all too well that if he’d been the one on the receiving end of that bullet, he would’ve bled out on the forest floor, crumpled into a ball with his mother’s face in mind - a banquet for the coyotes.

But Tyler was unkillable. Tyler was _lucky_. Tyler could eat lead all day long and still spring out of bed in the morning, sharp-eyed and grinning. Catlike.

Tyler still had time.

Josh dragged him up the porch steps in a trance - a fever dream, a nightmare, not real, not real - and was greeted almost immediately by a scream (his mother) and a curse (his father). And then Tyler was being transferred into a much stronger set of arms. Tyler was being brought into the kitchen where they’d eaten dinner together just a few weeks ago. Tyler was being laid out on that same wooden table, and it whined beneath his weight.

Josh watched. Josh wept. Josh cowered in the face of his mother’s endless onslaught of questions: _what_ _happened?_ _Who_ _did_ _this?_ _Where_ _did_ _you_ _go?_ _What_ _happened?_ _What_ _happened?_ _What_ _happened?_

“Get him out of here, Laura,” Josh’s father snarled. “And grab my bag while you’re at it. I think it might’ve hit an artery.”

The next thing Josh knew he was being ushered out of the kitchen like a dog that had been begging for scraps.

“Go to your room.” She was shoving him. She never did that. “Go to your room, Joshua.”

Josh went to his room.

 _Not_ _real._ _Can’t_ _be_ _real_.

Josh sat at the very edge of his bed.

 _Dreaming_.

Josh put his face in his hands.

 _Having_ _a_ _nightmare_.

Josh’s tears burned straight through his palms.

 _Hallucinating_ , _maybe_.

Josh heard Tyler scream from downstairs.

 

;

 

10PM. Josh was wide awake, curled atop his bed all blank-eyed and empty - a gutted corpse with no tears left to shed. Below him, his parents had begun to talk, and Josh listened. He always listened.

“Are you going to charge him?" His mom. She sounded nervous.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Josh’s father spoke like there were knives strapped to his tongue. “I don’t save lives for free. Especially when it’s his own damn fault he got shot.”

“What if he can’t afford it?”

Josh’s stomach twisted.

“That’s not my problem.”

Josh’s stomach _boiled_.

“Joshua will never forgive you,” Mrs. Dun insisted, and her son swallowed. He'd always forgiven easily - too easily, maybe - but some grudges deserved to be held.

“And that’s his right. But they shouldn’t be running around together in the first place.”

“I know. I think...” The way she trailed off made hot nausea blister in the basement of Josh’s gut. “I think I’ll keep them apart from now on.”

He was going to throw up. Dear God, he was going to _throw_ _up_.

“That’s a wise decision. The kid’s dangerous, Laura. He doesn’t mean to be, but he just _is._ ”

“It's... a shame. A real shame."

Tears. Josh was blinking back tears. The kind that burned. He curled into an even tighter ball; willed himself to disappear.

“And Josh- how much longer can we keep him here, really?”

His heart stopped cold.

“What do you mean?” Angry, or at least on her way to being so.

 _Please_ _fight_ _for_ _me_ , _Mama_. _Please_.

“I’ve got enough on my plate trying to feed Abigail and Jordan. Ashley is trying her best to help out, but we both know it won’t be enough. Most boys Josh’s age are out of the house by now - or at least pulling their own weight.”

 _Don’t_ _throw_ _up_. _Don’t_ _throw_ _up_. _Don’t_ _throw_ _up_.

“He can’t work, Bill. You know that. Those factories are so dangerous.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I raised a man or a mouse.”

 _Please_ , _God,_ _don’t_ _let_ _me_ _throw_ _up_.

“What do you suggest, then?" Her anger pierced through the floorboards, burying itself deep in Josh's chest. "Should we throw him out on the streets? Send him off to live with the Josephs?”

“I’m sure he’d prefer them to us," Mr. Dun said, practically spat it out, and Josh couldn't even disagree with him.

“Bill, _please_. I don’t want to argue." She sounded so tired, and Josh knew he was to blame. He always was. "Not tonight. This has all been too much.”

Footfalls. A door shutting. Silence.

Such a loud silence.

Josh slid out of bed in a heavy-hearted trance. He didn't even realize he had crossed his room until he felt the doorknob in his hand, cold and grounding and so easy to turn. Painfully easy. He had to be doing the right thing.

For once in his life, he was doing the right thing.

He crept downstairs on legs that trembled but didn't break, didn't buckle, because he had to be strong for Tyler. Tyler, who wasn't sleeping but sitting upright on a velvet sofa, the sharpness of his profile outlined in the watery silver light that bled through the window pane. He was twirling a pocket-knife around in nimble fingers, and Josh found himself frozen at the parlor's entrance, bewitched by the way the blade glittered like ice in the sunshine.

Then Tyler turned - looked at him - and within that look was a silent invitation to come closer. So Josh padded across the room to join him, settling wordlessly on the sofa with his heart in his mouth. Tyler was shirtless; naturally, the first thing Josh's eyes sought out was the wound, all dressed up with gauze and bandages and the like.

“Your dad’s one hell of a doctor," Tyler said, shamelessly snapping the quiet in two.

And Josh whispered _yeah_ , because there was nothing more to say.

“You okay?" Eyebrows furrowed and knife going still in his hands, he was a creature of concern. "Your eyes are all red and puffy.”

“I was just worried," Josh said, soft, and Tyler snorted.

“About me? C’mon, man. You know I won’t go down that easy.”

“I worry anyway. Can’t help it.” Josh stole a glance out the window at the moonwashed grass and leaves and trees - a nighttime playground. He was still taking it in when he sighed and said,“Y’know what’s stupid?”

“Enlighten me.”

“People are always going out of their way to keep me safe, but nobody... nobody seems to care what happens to _you_.”

Tyler's eyes, usually so dark and razor-sharp, went soft. Puppy eyes. Josh was domesticating the coyote. Josh was watching him ask, "Do you care?”

“I care so much it kills me," he admitted, and it was true.

“Then that’s all that matters.”

There was a beat of silence, and then the knife was clattering to the floor, and Tyler's hands were on his shoulders, and Tyler's mouth was so warm, so sweet, so gentle, and Josh was kissing him back with matching tenderness, and Josh was whimpering, because this wasn't right, had never been right, would never /be/ right, and yet...

And yet.

“We should go,” he gasped against Tyler’s heretic lips, whining a little when he pulled back, forehead creased.

“Go?”

“Get out of here. Run away. I don’t...” Josh stared at him with saucers for eyes, frantic - desperate. “I can’t stay here. I _won’t_ stay here.”

Tyler blinked. Tyler considered, but not for long. Tyler squeezed his hand and said, “Then we’ll go.”

“Your brothers- Madison-“

“Zack is sixteen, and so much smarter than me,” Tyler assured him, cracking that signature smile. “They’ll be just fine.”

“If you say so." Josh was hesitating now, hesitating like he always did, but Tyler wasted no time getting to his feet, wincing; extending a hand despite the pain.

"Let's go. If we hurry, we can catch a train."

Josh blinked, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Uh. A train?"

"Yeah.” Tyler raised both eyebrows. “You know what that is, don't you?"

"Well, I mean, yeah. I just... we don't have tickets,” Josh pointed out and watched him flash his imperfect teeth in a laugh.

"We don't _need_ tickets, idiot. We're gonna hop on. Illegally."

Josh’s eyes doubled in size. “While it's moving?"

Tyler nodded. “While it's moving."

"What if- I don't think-"

"Shut up and trust me,” said Tyler, still holding out a hand.

So Josh shut up and trusted him.

They left with nothing but the clothes on their backs (Tyler did, in fact, put his shirt back on) and crept through the moonlight like thieves on the run. The cicadas egged them on from the tall grass, from the makeshift cemeteries they swept past in a hotblooded hurry, because surely those little wooden crosses wanted what was best for them.

The tracks appeared more quickly than Josh had been anticipating: one minute they were stealing up another frozen hill, and the next? Staring down at the iron rails that would take them far away from this place.

“You sure this is what you want?” Tyler asked, speaking for the first time since they left Josh’s childhood home behind. Left _everything_ behind. His room, his porch swing, his family.

Tyler was his family.

“Yeah.” Josh was a man, not a mouse. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

As if on cue, the ground began to rumble, and Tyler took his hand, held it tight, led him from the hilltop to the tracks, led him away from the suffocating fear of death, of love, of God. Josh was still afraid, sure, but this was different. It was different because Tyler was squeezing his fingers; kissing his knuckles. Tyler was saying _good_ _luck_ , _baby_.

And there was the train. Loud enough to split their eardrums in two. Powerful enough to crush their bones into pixie dust. Fast enough to outrun them if they didn’t move quick enough.

They _had_ to move quick enough, and nobody was faster than Tyler, a skin-and-bones blur against the darkness. Josh was struggling to keep up with him. Josh was always struggling to keep up with him. Which is why Tyler reached the open car first, even with his mangled shoulder. He leapt, and he clawed, and he made it in. He was safe.

 _Thank_ _you_ , _God_ , _for_ _keeping_ _him_ _safe_.

It was Josh’s turn, and he wished he could say he was ready. But he was still struggling to keep pace, struggling to breathe, struggling to keep Tyler’s outstretched hand in his line of sight. Tyler was yelling at him. Tyler was saying, “C’mon, Josh! Right here! I’ll grab you!”

So Josh jumped.

Tyler’s hand was warm. It was so warm, and Josh let it pull him up. Pull him to safety.

He barely had time to catch his breath before Tyler was embracing him, kissing him, laughing, crying, howling.

The coyote and the porcelain doll were moving on. Moving forward.

It was time to start over.

**Author's Note:**

> @21bastards on tumblr!


End file.
